I guess this was the beginning.
We noticed the stain on the dining room ceiling, just above a dusty armoire filled with my mother's collection of bird skeletons, celluloid figurines and dog-eared photographs of family – long since deceased.
My parents told me the stain had grown bigger overnight and by now it appeared before us like a soft-boiled bulls-eye; alternating yellow-brown rings radiating ominously from its center.
My mother climbed up a stepladder to inspect what we believed to be the faulty plumbing, wearing her plaid bathrobe. In that moment my mother changed, forever. Her long gray mop became a metaphor for glory days not only past, but also missed sorely. I stood there with my mouth wide open, as this hard-edged slice of life buttered itself right before my eyes.
My portraits are large color photographs that explore the complex interrelationships of age, familiarity, and obsolescence through nostalgic regression, dependence, and the "Peter Pan" complex.
At present, I'm working on adding more characters to this ongoing narrative series. They are people I meet on the Internet, on the street and in check-out lines at grocery stores. We meet again on park benches, and doorsteps. They like to snap my picture after I've taken theirs.
I've made their portraits very still and simplistic. Do you recognize these people, or these types of people? Maybe the same person repeats over and over again.
Perhaps you've recognized yourself.
